


The Psychopath's Bouquet

by okapi



Series: Your Extra Time and Your Kiss [6]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, Fem!Moritary, Fem!Mormor, Femslash, Genderswap, John Watson's Blog, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, fem!Moran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-24 23:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1621592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Queen isn't the only fan of John's blog. Follow-up to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1505114">Gothic</a>. Fem!Mormor.</p><p>Inspired by the entire line of <a href="http://occmakeup.com/collections/lips-1">Lip Products</a> by Obsessive Compulsive Cosmetics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Psychopath's Bouquet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QueerSherlockian (Anglophile_Fiend)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anglophile_Fiend/gifts).



**The Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson**

**16th May**

**Sherlock is always loathe for me to talk about the unsolved ones, but recently he was called to assist in the notorious Zambini jury murders. Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past month, you’ll know that the trial of the elderly head of the Zambini crime family was postponed when the entire jury was found dead in a locked and well-guarded deliberation room. The lips of each of the twelve members—males and females alike—were painted with different colours and a large black ribbon with a bow encircled the entire group, who were slumped in their chairs. No signs of struggle and no cause of death (as of yet). Weird, huh? And it’s got a certain boffin detective—and his faithful blogger—completely stumped! It’s a tragedy how many cups of tea I’ve had to throw out this past week as we’ve raced hither and thither following up leads that lead nowhere. The first such lead was….**

 

It was dusk.

The bats were circling.

The balcony doors were open to let in the cool night air. The only light in the room was a computer screen and the occasional flicker of a cigarette lighter.

Seb smiled at the screen and said,

“You shouldn’t have.”

When she turned, she was not surprised to see the green-eyed woman perched on the balcony rail.

“Interesting choice for convalescence, Tiger. Ceylon.”

“Been called Sri Lanka for, what, forty years, Boss? Best tea in the world. Even the cheap tourist stuff is top shelf.” Seb pointed to the computer screen. “This is you. You didn’t hire this out.”

“I wanted to show you that I care,” said the woman. She entered the dark room. “So I got you a bouquet. I even put a nice bow around it.”

“Such a romantic. Some women send flowers. Chocolates.”

The woman shrugged. “Boring.” She walked around the room with her hands in her pockets. “You got my card?” she whined.

Seb smiled. “Yeah,” she clicked on a link to details about the case, “Let’s see. Here are the colours of the lips: lilac, that’d be **L** ovecraft; pink, would be **O** phelia; burgundy, **V** intage; a coral, which might be **E** lectric Grandma, bright pink, **M** annequin; fuschia, **Y** aoi; black, **T** arred; peach, **I** nterlace; coral, could be **G** randma and third coral, which I assume is another **E** lectric Grandma; blue, **R** x, so altogether that’s **L-O-V-E-M-Y-T-I-G-E-R**. And lastly of course, would be…”

“…plum-taupe, which the lovely people at Obsessive Compulsive Cosmetics were so amenable to call Sebastian, for my Sebby, after I decided not to contaminate their entire inventory with ricin. Cruelty-free, indeed.” The woman wrapped her arms around Seb’s shoulders and kissed her cheek.

“Careful. The ribs are still healing. So what’s the occasion? Not my birthday.”

“It’s not every day that my hide bearer is the only survivor of a siege by Somali pirates.”

“So you heard about that?”

The woman cocked her head, “Who do you think authorized it?”

Seb roared, “I was tortured for three days!” She rose up out of the chair too quickly, winced, limped a few steps and lowered herself gingerly on the bed.

“And you survived! Exams are over, Tiger. You passed, with flying colours. You’re ready. It’s time to go home. Tea or no tea, this island climate is hell on the Westwood.” She brushed her lapels.

“Kandy’s in the central highlands, Boss. You’d be a lot more uncomfortable on the coast. How is it you can run an international underground criminal enterprise, but know absolutely nothing about geography? You can’t even read a map!”

“If I ever knew how to read a map, then I deleted it to make room for more important things, like how to make a 747 disappear!”

Seb took a small white pill from a bottle on the bedside table and swallowed it dry. Seb rolled her left shoulder gently, clenching her teeth. The woman’s green eyes darkened as she watched the tattooed tiger ripple. Seb leaned back on the pillows.

“Listen, Tiger,” the woman took out a small, velvet box, and knelt by the bed.

“I’m not marrying you, you psychopath.” Seb grinned.

The woman opened her eyes and mouth wide in feigned surprise. “Cherish the look of surprise on my face. Because I am surprised, and just a teensy bit disappointed. No.” She opened the box; a single key was inside. “I want you to come home and be my live-in ordinary person. It’ll be so funny.”

“I like the bouquet of murders better. That,” she pointed to her computer, “was romantic. _This_ , not so much.”

“Let me show you how funny it’ll be,” said the woman huskily, taking off her suit jacket and hanging it carefully on the back of the chair. She unbuttoned her shirt cuffs.

“No rough stuff, Boss. I’m still going be pissing blood for a week,” Seb warned.

“That Somali business was just… _foreplay_ ,” teased the woman.

“I’m serious, Boss.” The woman leaned with two hands on the bed and kissed her. And Seb melted, pulling her close, “ _Christ_ , I missed you.” The woman hummed. Seb broke away quickly to toss another white pill in her mouth.

“Maybe just a little rough stuff,” she whispered.

“That’s my tiger.”

 

 

Much later, they were both naked in bed. Seb was resting her head on the woman’s stomach, looking at her computer. The woman was fiddling with her mobile with one hand and idly stroking Seb’s head and scratching behind her ears with the other.

Seb said, “I like this blog. Especially the one about the aluminum crutch. This Watson bloke is probably the only person on the planet that likes tea as much as I do. And he has to put up with a pretentious twat for a boss, just like me.”

“They’re actually women.”

“What? _Sherlock_ and _John_ are women? Then why does he, I mean she, write the blog like that?”

“Would you believe that two women could get into _that_ much trouble?”

The two stared at each other and burst into laughter. Seb winced, guarding her side.

“Nah! Murder, mayhem, that’s a man’s business.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Three lifetimes ago, I spent a month in Kandy, Sri Lanka. I still remember the bats and the tea. It was a lovely place.


End file.
